


Another Archive

by Haberdasher



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Archivist Jonathan Sims, Background Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Background Relationships, Canon Compliant, Canon Relationships, Crying, Doctor Who References, Established Relationship, Fiction, Gen, International Fanworks Day, International Fanworks Day 2020, M/M, Meta, Metafiction, Modern Doctor Who References, POV Martin Blackwood, Reality, The Lord of the Rings References, safehouse fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22580071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haberdasher/pseuds/Haberdasher
Summary: Jon gains an unexpected wealth of information while at the safehouse with Martin. Written for International Fanworks Day 2020.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 14
Kudos: 105





	Another Archive

It was a nice enough morning in Scotland, given that the world had ended a few days beforehand.

Jon and Martin were together at the safehouse still, trying to piece together what had happened and what could be done about it. It was dangerous out there, that much was clear, and they were staying put for the time being while they developed a plan, or at least figured out what they’d need in order to develop a proper plan that wouldn’t just get them both killed.

Jon blamed himself for it, Martin knew he did, and none of Martin’s reassurances to the contrary, reassurances that the only one responsible for the hellscape that surrounded them was Jonah Magnus himself, seemed to make a difference.

Perhaps that was because Martin himself didn’t entirely believe his own words. He didn’t blame Jon, that much was true, but... but he blamed himself.

He hadn’t been there when it had happened, sure, but that was the problem. Perhaps if he had stayed there and listened to Jon record his first statement of the pile, he would have noticed that something was amiss. Perhaps Martin could have taken the action that Jon couldn’t--Jon had explained that bit, over and over again, how he _couldn’t_ stop reading the statement even once its true nature was clear. If Martin had grabbed that piece of paper and burned it before Jon could read it to the end... well, he wasn’t sure what exactly would have happened, but it had to be better than this.

He should have been there. He should have _tried_.

But it was far too late for that now, of course...

But it might have been those memories, and those regrets of things left untried, that made a half-awake Martin spring into action when he woke up to see Jon frantically scribbling God-knows-what onto various pieces of paper.

“Jon?”

Jon didn’t react to Martin calling his name, or to Martin scrambling out of bed and over to near where Jon was seated at the kitchen table. Dozens of pieces of paper surrounded him, most with at least some markings on them already. Martin picked one up at random and saw that while some of it was written in regular English--and mentioned Martin’s own name, a fact that made his stomach lurch--some was in what seemed to be a shorthand Martin didn’t know how to decode, and even more was in what looked to be multiple distinct languages aside from English.

How long had Jon been doing this? How long had Martin been asleep while Jon had been up doing... whatever this was?

“Jon, what are you doing?”

Martin wasn’t terribly surprised to find that Jon didn’t respond to that question, either. Jon’s eyes had an unnatural gleam to them, one Martin knew the meaning of well enough by now, and as he started to write something more in--was that _Chinese_?--Martin decided that he would put an end to it.

There was no clear source for Jon’s writing, no paper to throw into the fire like he had dreamed of doing a number of times now, but Martin snatched the pen out of Jon’s hand and snapped it in two, trying not to let the plastic bits jabbing his skin or the black ink now covering his hands bother him unduly. There were more important things at hand.

Jon extended one hand towards the next nearest writing utensil, a pencil that was halfway across the table from him, but Martin pushed the pencil out of arm’s reach, making sure his face was in Jon’s line of sight as he did so.

“Jon!”

Martin’s voice was distinctly louder than before--not quite a yell, not yet, though he would get there if need be.

Further escalation proved unnecessary, though, as Jon blinked a few times in rapid succession, and that unnatural gleam faded from his eyes, leaving... well, leaving just _Jon_.

“Martin?”

“What is all of this?” Martin gestured towards the kitchen table, cluttered with paper, on which Jon had clearly written _something_.

“Right. That.” Jon let out a dark laugh without much humor in it. “It’s, uh, a bit of a long story-”

Martin sighed softly as he asked, trying to keep his voice filled more with concern than with frustration, “And is any of that long story going to get us all killed?”

“No! No, it can’t, none of it’s _real_...” Jon laughed again as he added, “Though I’m not sure any of this is real now, either...”

Jon made a vague, sweeping hand gesture as he finished that last statement, and Martin tried to fill in the blanks. Clearly Jon Knew something that he hadn’t before this morning, that much was clear, but... how could you Know something that wasn’t real in the first place? And while it was possible that his newfound knowledge was what was leading him to question the state of reality, there were also a number of other potential causes for such questioning, both natural and supernatural in origin...

Martin tried to sound more upbeat and confident than he felt as he said, “How about you go over what it is you’ve been writing down, and we figure out the state of reality from there, hmm?”

“Alright. Though when I said it was a long story--really it’s a lot of stories, and some of them are quite long indeed-”

“Start from the beginning, then?”

“I’m not sure there’s a beginning to start from...” Jon sighed and pressed one hand against his temple, but as Martin internally debated the pros and cons of pushing him further, Jon kept speaking.

“I’m being literal, when I call them stories, that’s the thing. Stories about _us_ , about the Institute, the Archives... I woke up this morning with... hundreds, maybe thousands of them, all fresh in my mind, all practically begging to be written down.”

“And so you did?” Martin said, gesturing to the pile of papers.

“...and so I did, yes. But the strangest part is, some of them-- _most_ of them, really--they... they aren’t true, they aren’t _real,_ they never happened. Office parties the Institute never held, New Years’ parties the archive staff never actually attended... and you never had a Lord of the Rings movie marathon with Tim, now, did you?”

It took Martin a moment to realize the question was being directed towards him. “Er, no. No, I didn’t.”

Martin wondered what that story was like, if he _should_ have watched Lord of the Rings with Tim back when he had the chance, how things might have been different if he had made that one small move.

A hint of a smile appeared on Jon’s face as he asked, “I’m curious, now, do you actually know Elvish?”

Martin could feel his face heat up. “Well, Elvish isn’t actually the technical term for--yes. Yes, I taught myself Elvish.” A thought occurred to Martin, and when he next spoke, he spoke not in English but in Sindarin. (It was probably slightly rusty, but years of teaching yourself a language, fictional or not, don’t just wear off overnight.) “ _What about you_?”

Jon blinked twice in a row, and Martin thought he spied a hint of that gleam in his eyes as he replied, also in Sindarin, “ _Apparently so_.”

The gleam faded from Jon’s eyes once more as he looked over the papers, though not focusing on any one in particular, his voice in English once more when next he spoke.

“So perhaps there are snippets of truth in these stories, at least. Alternate universes, perhaps, worlds in which things went differently... I don’t know.”

Jon cleared his throat, clearly more to make a point than because anything was actually lodged within it.

“But what I _do_ know is that I’ve never... _been with_...” Jon’s tone of voice and facial expression grew more and more uncomfortable as he kept listing off names. “Tim, Gerry, Daisy, Michael, Nikola, Peter Lukas, _Elias_ , or... or _Mr. Spider_.”

Martin laughed a little before seeing the somber and disturbed expression on Jon’s face, his laughter dying in an instant.

“Is there really-”

“ _Yes_.” Jon took a deep breath before speaking further, and Martin could see that he was shaking slightly. “Maybe it’s not alternate universes, because I refuse to believe that- that in _any_ universe, I would-”

“What about us?”

Jon blinked with surprise, and his shaking settled down a bit. “What?”

Martin gently set his hand, still ink-stained, atop Jon’s, glad to see that Jon didn’t draw away from the contact. “Are any of these stories about the two of _us_ being together?”

“Oh. Yes, quite a few of them.” Jon’s hand squeezed Martin’s softly as he added, “I just figured that went without saying.”

Martin shot Jon a weak smile. “It’s good to hear just the same, though.”

“Some of these stories even take place in the future--perhaps our future, but probably not, given the evidence. There’s tales of us going to London and killing Elias, or- or traveling back in time using Helen’s hallways--can she even _do_ that?”

Martin sheepishly smiled as he said softly, “You’re asking the wrong person there.”

“But the thing is...” Jon took another deep breath and let it out slowly before continuing. “...all these stories, no matter how wrong, how far-fetched... they all _feel_ real to me, somehow. They seem as real as... as this moment right here.”

Martin’s weak smile faded away as he processed the implications of Jon’s statement. “I... I see.”

“So does that mean none of this is real, then? Are we just a-an overwrought work of fiction? Is this just another story?”

Martin felt something wet touch his hand. He looked down to see that it was a single teardrop, its fall smudging the ink stain covering his hand, and looked up to see that Jon was quietly crying.

“And if so... then what does that make _us_?”

Martin wiped the tears from Jon’s eyes, stifling a snort as he saw the black mark his hand left in its wake.

“We’re all stories, in the end. Just make it a good one, eh?”

Jon’s tears slowed, though they didn’t quite stop, as he made eye contact with Martin.

“Where’s that from?”

“What, you think I couldn’t come up with that all by myself?”

“I- I didn’t mean-”

“It’s from Doctor Who, Jon.” Martin laughed a little, both at his own joke and at the look on Jon’s face when he realized Martin had been messing with him.

“Say, in all those stories, are there any where we get to meet the Doctor? Go off in the TARDIS, explore all of space and time?”

The trickle of tears down Jon’s cheek finally slowed to a stop as he considered Martin’s question.

“I’m not sure off-hand, actually. Let me think...”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, consider following me on tumblr at [haberdashing](https://haberdashing.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
